


Stomach Pains

by EmeraldWaters



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 01:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13729917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaters/pseuds/EmeraldWaters
Summary: Minseok made the mistake of thinking he was safe





	Stomach Pains

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the birth child of an away trip with no cell phone service and a solid day and a half of writing. angst, as I'm a little ashamed to say, comes easier to me than happier writing, so this is probably the piece that had the shortest amount of time in draft period. 
> 
> enjoy!

 

Minseok is eighteen when he wins his Games.  
  
Eighteen when the girl from 5 succumbs to his spear and falls to the snow, dead. Eighteen when the Capitol's best doctors take to him - to reverse the emaciation, the hypothermia and the wound in his side - even if they can’t save his little finger.

Eighteen when the Capitol decides that Minseok is healthy enough again, and sells him as a prostitute.  
  
(All things considered, Minseok had expected it to happen). His weight loss in the arena had only served to sharpen his jaw and make the giant of his eyes stand out. Even without considering the full pout of his mouth and inkiness of his hair, he was a Victor now. Desirable. (Not even his taciturn nature and solemnness was enough to make the bids slow down). Minseok supposed it was the idea of getting to sleeping with a Victor - the epitome, the paragon of successfulness - that really drew them in though, not him.  
  
Aside from that, in District 2, mentoring was the task of the most recent Victors. Taeyeon is his partner, at twenty-seven now, she won her Games at 17, through the mixed use of poison and an easily-concealed dagger. She got the girls, he got the boys. Minseok doesn't have enough in his heart to truly care for any of his tributes - most being volunteers and cocky and arrogant and loud - but didn't deny there was a tiny pang every time one of them returned home in a box.  
  
Minseok's life went this way for three years: being rented out, mentoring, an annual small-scale repeat of his Victory Tour (because for some reason the Districts absolutely _adored_ him) and returning home whenever he could; standing alone at the mountain with a gun in his hand.  
  
But the Capitol must think he isn’t doing enough.  
  
Because three years later, three years on the cusp of being four since being crowned Victor, they reap Kim Jongdae.

 

* * *

  
  
Although Minseok has been teaching himself for years not to feel emotion, his stomach has dropped painfully. _In District 2 if the reaped tribute is 18, no one can volunteer._ Minseok’s vision tunnels. _For a minute all the cameras catch of Jongdae is the bounce of his hair._ Sweat, cold clammy sweat had started a slow trickle down Minseok’s spine. _Jongdae climbs the steps, face carefully blank._ They make brief eye contact. _Jongdae comes to a stop in front of Minseok; his mentor._ Minseok’s hands clasped behind his back, dig into one another as if in hope to prove that this isn't real, this is just a nightmare, when will he wake up?

 

* * *

 

As Jongdae’s mentor, Minseok meets him on the train. Waits until they're hidden away in the back carriage before greeting him the way he wanted to. A hug that stretches on, Minseok’s arms curling around the tops of Jongdae’s shoulders, Jongdae’s arms resting at his waist. Minseok’s face pressed into Jongdae’s neck as if it’s _him_ that needs the comfort, lips finding the skin there once, but deeply, as if he could convey all his sorrows without words. Minseok didn't know the Capitol knew they were friends.

Eventually, Jongdae pulls away - _of course it’s Jongdae, Jongdae is a better man than he’ll ever be._

“Come on hyung, let's go get some food.”

 

* * *

 

To everybody on the outside, dinner is a comfortable affair. Jongdae wins everyone over at the table, making easy conversation with the other tribute Jessica, Taeyeon, and even their escort - not once batting an eye at the plume of peacock feathers she has instead of hair.

Minseok stays on the sidelines as usual, sipping his flume of wine even though he can't stand the stuff. Eats what is placed in front of him without really seeing it. Feels like he could sink right through the chair and puddle to the floor if not for Jongdae’s ankle hooked subtly around his.

The escort’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “So, what do you think of the tributes this year Xiumin?”

His hand catches white-knuckled around the pure silver of his knife. As if he hadn’t hated her already.

It takes him a few minutes to answer, and he does without being able to even face Jongdae. “District 1 looks good this year - their female tribute has been pretty much top of her classes. District 4’s male tribute might be one to watch out for, although he’s physically on the smaller side. District 6 usually produces tributes with strategic minds. District 9’s tributes look strong. But appearance doesn't always equal a winner.”

 

* * *

 

Sometimes when Minseok is in bed, he's transported back into the Arena. Back to shifting eyes and shaking hands, unable to relax for fear of being snuck up on. In the Arena, Minseok was lucky, he knows this. Out of the 24, 9 died from exposure. Near the end, Minseok was almost one of them.  
  
It's why Minseok detests the cold. Why he cannot go anywhere without a thick winter coat - otherwise his heart starts to pound and his eyes go hazy and his world dwindles to nothing but him being very very alone.  
  
When the door of his compartment opens, Minseok isn't surprised. (It isn't as if he was asleep anyway). He folds the edge of his duvet down. "Hurry up Dae, before all the hot air gets out."  
  
"You sound old hyung," comes the whispered retort, but a warm body slides in beside Minseok before even thirty seconds have passed.  
  
"Couldn't sleep?" Minseok asks tentatively when Jongdae's head finds the pillow beside him.  
  
"Not without your hideous snoring."  
  
"Shut your mouth!" Minseok says indignantly to Jongdae's accompanying huff of laughter. "You know I don't snore."  
  
Jongdae concedes, voice becoming serious. "Couldn't sleep with you so far away.”

Minseok understands. They've been sharing a room since they were ten, a bed since Minseok was 19. Separation anxiety makes sense.

At least that's all Minseok tells himself it is.

 

* * *

  
  
Minseok's dream that night isn't a dream at all. But a memory from a year after his Games:

 _"Do you ever regret it?"  
  
_ _"No," Minseok had sighed eventually. "I did what I had to do to survive and I would do it again. Does that make me a bad person?"  
  
_ _Jongdae had bitten into his apple then, noisily. "No hyung, just an honest one."_

 _  
_ Except this time, when Minseok looks again, it's not apple juice that runs down Jongdae's chin but blood. In his hand, he holds Minseok's heart.

 

* * *

  
  
"You look tired Minseok," is the first thing Jongdae says when he wakes up.  
  
Minseok can't find a funny response in himself this morning. "I was up early."  
  
(It's not fully a lie, he _was_ up early, but only because he barely slept at all).  
  
Jongdae seems to know this, crawling out of bed to place his warm hand on Minseok's nape. A bittersweet comfort.  
  
"We will arrive at the Capitol in an hour, you'll go straight -"  
  
"- Straight to the prep team to get ready for tonight. Yes, Pea told me."  
  
"Cheeky! Is that -"  
  
"' - Anyway to speak to your hyung?' Sorry Min," Jongdae interrupts again, pecking him on the cheek and giving him a blinding grin. "I'll see you soon."  
  
He dances out of the room, taking Minseok's heart with him and leaving only the worry.  
  
Because Jongdae is soft and sweet. Because despite his seriousness, Jongdae is a giver, and with his caring nature, belongs with life and love. Because Jongdae spends his days singing as he works, lovely voice winding down the passages of the Nut. (Even the harshest Peacekeepers smile a little around Jongdae). But one thing Jongdae is not, is a warrior.

_  
"Min! Min! Come here!"_

_"Ahh Dae, be quiet," Minseok chides in a loud whisper, casting furtive glances around. One thing not tolerated in 2 is excessive noise. Something Jongdae hadn't learnt despite having been here for nine months now._

_"But look!" He cries, pointing to a mass of blue and white on the ground._

_It's a Mockingjay, Minseok realises when it writhes enough to reveal a dirty beak. A Mockingjay with a broken wing._

_"What do we do?"_

_Jongdae looks scared and panicked, something even 12-year-old Minseok can't stand. So he fetched his Father - something he realises as a mistake too late._

_"What did you interrupt my day off for?"  
  
_ _Minseok is chastised into silence but Jongdae is not. "Mr Kim sir, we found a bird and it's hurt!"_

_Minseok's Father looks at it for a moment and something settles into his eyes. Minseok knows what's going to happen before it does._

_Jongdae doesn't, by the way the flinches when the gun goes off._

_Just the way the world works," Minseok’s Father says, nudging the dead bird with his toe in disgust. "They're not meant to live long anyway."_

_Only when he leaves does Minseok pull his younger friend into a hug. He's not crying but he is shaking. Jongdae feels too much._

_Minseok looks down at the dead bird without feeling a single thing.  
  
  
_

* * *

_  
  
_

When Minseok heads down to the preparation area for the opening ceremony, Jongdae and Jessica are already in their chariot.  
  
From what Minseok can see of them, with the stylist fluttering between them like a demented bird, he's gone with the age-old tradition of dressing the Peacekeepers like Gods. The stylist makes a big show of fluffing out Jongdae's cape before he totters off in his ridiculous shoes.  
  
When Minseok gets close enough to touch the horses, Jongdae turns his head and Minseok sucks in a breath.  
  
Despite the stylist’s overindulgence in his own clothing, Jongdae looks breath-taking, dressed in pieces of armour the same white-gold as the cape that spins as he moves. Gold bands circle his otherwise bare biceps and wrists, highlighting the surprising amount of muscle. The pectoral left free by the cut of the armour glistens in the turn of the light.

But the real beauty is Jongdae's face. In the same fashion, white-gold shimmers across his eyelids and makes his skin glow, highlighting the arch of his cheekbones and the fan of his eyelashes. His dark hair has been parted in the middle, a long lock of hair pulled to fall softly on his forehead.

A million messages pass between them through only their eyes, and Jongdae leans down as far as he can.  
  
Minseok's hand curls his hands around the wood of the chariot sides. "Dae. Wave, smile, laugh. Do anything you can to get people to remember you."  
  
Jongdae nods, his forelock curling into his eyes at the movement. Despite the natural uplift of the corners of his mouth, the line of his lips now were solemn.  
  
Minseok steps back and watches with his heart in his throat as Jongdae's chariot disappears out into the air.

 

* * *

 

"It's so _unfair!_ " Jongdae bursts out of the corner of his mouth when they leave the elevator they briefly shared with 11 and 12. His fists have clenched.  
  
Minseok doesn't say anything, can't. Had seen too the curves of their ribs through their shirts and the stick-thin brittleness of their wrists, chapped hollows of their faces and the tight dryness of their skin. But there also might be cameras in the halls and Minseok can't afford to incriminate himself further. Cruel maybe, but he was known as the Ice Prince for a reason. He couldn't afford to care. (Didn't, until Jongdae got reaped).  
  
Minseok opens his mouth to say _something_ but the moment has passed.

"So Jessica and Taeyeon aren't back?"  
  
"No," Minseok replies, relieved for the subject change. "Taeyeon wanted to fit in a little coaching before tomorrow morning."  
  
"Good," Jongdae says smoothly, stepping closer with a smile that curls from the corner of his mouth.  
  
Minseok really should've known, given the way Jongdae's fingers had curled into his belt loops. _"Jongdae.”_

He waggles his eyebrows but Minseok can see the sadness in them. "Yes hyung?"  
  
"We can't, we have to go over our plans for the next few days," Minseok points out, but can't stop the smile that grows on his face. Something in the world that only Jongdae has the privilege of seeing.  
  
_“I'd much rather be over you,”_ is the mutter Minseok chooses to ignore.  
  
If they were back in District 2 maybe Minseok would've indulged him, as he finds it hard to resist Jongdae's petulance and the scratchy tone his voice takes on whenever he whines.  
  
But that's a distraction, and a luxury they no longer can afford.

 

* * *

  
  
"Make sure you try all the stations. Don't ignore the survival skills section. 25% of tributes die from exposure. Just like -"  
  
" - In your Games," Jongdae finishes for him, Minseok's oatmeal turning to ash in his mouth.  
  
His fine-boned fingers cradle the pen as he makes notes of what Minseok is saying. Not so much for memory, as it is something to do with his hands, Minseok supposes. The ever-present silver ring glints on his finger as he jots down the last point.  
  
It's an odd little symbol; kind of like a pointy backwards 'S.' It was the only thing Jongdae got to keep from his home district he'd said, the one time Minseok had asked, bitter when he returned home from his Victory tour to see it on Jongdae's ring finger.  
  
"Now, you'll want to decide how you present yourself at training. Because we're from District 2, people tend to know we're strong, but you don't have to go down that path."  
  
"You didn't."  
  
"I didn't," Minseok agrees. Minseok had used his height and cute little chubby face to feign weakness. Had shaken in his interview, with tears in his eyes, talking about wanting to go home. After the third time he a tribute fell to his spear, people realised it had all been an act.  
  
"What about allies?"  
  
"Hmm?" Minseok says, looking up from the deep dark dregs of his breakfast. Anything to avoid Jongdae's dark inquisitive stare.  
  
"What's your opinion on allies?"  
  
"It's up to you. It worked well for me to work alone in my Games, but if you think sticking to a pack will help you, go for it. Just remember that you can't trust them to not stab you in the back - there can only be one winner."  
  
It's easier to speak detachedly - to pretend that it's not Jongdae he's speaking to. If Minseok thinks about it he'll never be able to do this.  
  
Teach his friend? His lover? His partner, how to survive? (All of those titles fail to describe the depth of what Jongdae means to him. Two halves of the same heart would be more accurate). How is anyone meant to be able to send someone who means _that much_ off to _die?_

"Minnie?"

"Yes, Chenny Chen?" Minseok replies, reverting to an old nickname to ground him. (No one quite knows where it came from - not even them).  
  
"I've got to go now, see you for lunch?"  
  
Sure enough, Jongdae was dressed in the black training gear. The ‘2’ pinned to his arm flutters as he stands.  
  
"Okay. Good luck," Minseok says with a smile that is so far from his eyes it may as well be the moon.

 

* * *

  
  
Lunch comes quickly. Most of the time before spent down in the courtyard with Taeyeon having forgetful conversations with simpering Capitol people to scope out potential sponsors.  
  
No doubt most of the names in their book are Taeyeon's doing. She is lovely and radiant, smiling down at the people with ease, and making conversation about absolutely nothing.  
  
To him, the Capitol patrons were like that treat Minseok had once before his Games, clouds of brightly-coloured fluff that dissolved into sickly nothing when it hit his mouth. Minseok is glad again for his image, which allowed him to be quiet and withdrawn as long as others felt the full weight of his 'captivating' eyes on them.  
  
Jongdae and Jessica come up together. They're still bickering lightly even as they split to take seats on their opposite sides of the table.  
  
"What's this all about?" Taeyeon asks amusedly, pouring herself a bowlful of soup.  
  
Minseok watches her handle the ladle. To anyone, she would sound interested, but to Minseok, who knows her, she's never once lived up to the sincerity in her voice.  
  
"Jongdae reckons we shouldn't ally with 1 and 4."  
  
_“Yet_. I said yet," Jongdae argues, pointing his fork in her direction. "I think we should consider the other tributes first."  
  
Jessica rolls her eyes.  
  
Minseok watches Jongdae under the pretence of eating his rice dish with the two thin strips of silver that served as cutlery. Watches his face, the laugh lines bunching and wrinkling around his eyes, the bob of his Adam's Apple as he ate, and the thump of his pulse against the skin of his neck.

 

* * *

  
  
The afternoon is spent in a roomful of mirrors. Jongdae looks comfortable in a hard-backed chair; similar to the one sending pains up Minseok's spine.  
  
As usual, Jongdae breaks the silence. "We haven't done much."  
  
"I don't think you need it."  
  
"You flatter me."  
  
"I'm being serious," Minseok says. He wouldn't lie to Jongdae. Not about this. Not about anything. "Your natural personality - easy-going, friendly, charming - is enough to win over anyone. There's not much I need to coach."  
  
"As long as you think so hyung. I don't need to rehearse any lines?" Jongdae asks, humble and trusting right to his toes. With no idea how _devastating_ he could be.  
  
Their eyes lock in a mirror. Minseok is greedy, gaze running over every inch of Jongdae. Committing to memory every piece of him.  
  
A perfunctory knock breaks the moment in half. The stylist enters, taking Jongdae to another room.

Away, out of Minseok’s reach.

 

* * *

  
  
Minseok remembers the first time he saw Jongdae; a solemn, straight-backed boy who had no tears, despite just being taken from his family.  
  
Seeing Jongdae standing there, waiting as the stylist adjusts his shirt, Jongdae reminds Minseok of that boy. Impersonal and stone-faced, a world away from the boy he'd come to know. To love.  
  
The stylist leaves.  
  
Minseok steps closer, brushes his hands down Jongdae's front in a way that comes across as genial rather than the well-practised routine it is.  
  
Jongdae watches him carefully with dark eyes, and the words burst unplanned from Minseok's mouth. "Make them love you Jongdae. Make them laugh, make them smile in the way you can do so easily. Because if they see not even 10% of what I see in you, they're going to _adore_ you."  
  
"Are you trying to woo me all over again Kim Minseok?" Jongdae asks wryly, fixing the loops of cord around his neck, but there's a curve of a smile softening his cheeks.  
  
And for a second Minseok pictures this as a scene before their wedding, the easy banter, Jongdae beautiful beside him.  
  
But then a Capitol worker walks past - done in clashing fuchsia and orange - to tell them that Jongdae is on in two, and it all comes crashing down.  
  
Because that will _never_ be a reality. Not in this world.    
  
"Don't worry about me hyung, I just ooze charm," Jongdae says after Minseok's pause runs too long, and earns himself a smack on the ear for the sheer cheekiness.  
  
By the time Jongdae is officially called up onto the stage, they've joined the other tributes and are standing in silence.  
  
Jongdae gives him a sharp nod before disappearing out into the front of the crowd. Minseok watches from a screen down the hall for privacy - an illusion.

 

* * *

  
  
Minseok's first thought is that Jongdae looks comfortable. Most tributes show at least one sign of nerves, a jiggling leg, shaking hands, restless eyes. But no, Jongdae lounges in the chair, ankle crossed over his thigh and makes a big effort to shake the announcer's hand.  
  
The tittering crowd falls into silence when Caesar Flickerman's mouth opens.  
  
"So, Kim Jongdae."  
  
"That's me," Jongdae agrees, a cheeky cat-like smile grows in across his face.  
  
The announcer guffaws and the crowd follows. Eager little sycophants.  
  
"Sly. I like it. Before we get onto you, I just ask. The Ice Prince. What's he like?"  
  
"Chilly," Jongdae replies, letting out a short bark of laughter that the crowd follows again. Then he sobers up. "Well Caesar, I have to say that Xiumin has been a great mentor. Very helpful and knowledgeable."  
  
Minseok, who hated his stage moniker as much as he welcomed the distance from his real self, wrinkled his nose when Caesar leans forward and gestures Jongdae closer.  
  
"Would you say then, that he’s thawed out?"  
  
The crowd shrieks.  
  
Jongdae's mouth settles into smug, emphasis on the curled corners of his lips. His eyes, outlined in black, are heavy and direct.  
  
The crowd sighs.  
  
"I see you've got a ring on your finger," Caesar starts conversationally.  
  
Minseok wants to punch him.  
  
"A lucky lady that we should know about?"  
  
Minseok worries his lip, watching Jongdae twist his ring around.  
  
But Jongdae smiles, slow and radiant. _All for show._ "Why would I, when all the lovely ladies are right here?"  
  
The crowd swoons.  
  
Caesar claps Jongdae on the back. "Now a wee birdie told me you could sing."  
  
"You angling for a show Caesar?" Jongdae quips back.  
  
The crowd titters.  
  
"I suppose I am," Caesar says, spreading his arms wide to address the crowd at large. "Do you want a show?"  
  
The Capitol would _never_ turn down a show.  
  
Jongdae stands. His voice fills the air, growing in strength and pitch as he sings a song about an unfaithful woman. It's captivating, and despite the lack of meaning - or supposedly because of it - the audience is spellbound. None of them know it’s all a lie.  
  
When Jongdae finishes, the crowd bursts into applause.  
  
Caesar has an exaggerated frown on his face when the crowd quietens, "And unfortunately that's all the time we have."  
  
The crowd groans.  
  
Caesar Flickerman laughs, turning to face the cameras. "Don't worry folks, you'll see him again soon.” He winks. “Kim Jongdae everybody!"

 

* * *

  
  
There's something to be said about the night and the secrets it carries.  
  
They're in Minseok's bed again, Minseok's head on Jongdae's chest as he loops Minseok's curls between and around his fingers. It's cozy, thick down blankets pulled to the middle of his back with the soft rise and fall of Jongdae's breaths. But despite the warmth and the comfort and the serenity, Minseok can't relax.  
  
It's the night before the Games. They're _tomorrow._  
  
Who knows if he'll ever be able to hold Dae again? Jongdae only got a 7 at training. Jongdae isn't a killer.  
  
His hand clenches on Jongdae's chest.  
  
"You alright Min?"  
  
"How are you alright with this?"  
  
Because since he got reaped, Jongdae has been shockingly normal. Neither Minseok or Jongdae scare easily, but this is their _lives_. Even Minseok had moments before his Games to come to terms with what he'd be going through.  
  
Jongdae doesn't seem bothered by the non-sequitur. "Well, it's not like I'm going win hyung."  
  
Something burns in the race up Minseok's throat - he can't tell if it's guilt or anger but he spins in Jongdae's arms to stare him in the eye.  
  
His own token - a snowflake pendant - catches painfully where it hangs from his neck. _"Jongdae."_

"Minseok -"  
  
_"- No."_ His voice is sharp with finality. Jongdae can't think like this, he can't.  
  
"Min-"  
  
Minseok squeezes his eyes shut. "- No. _Please_ , Jongdae."  
  
Because he can't tell Jongdae he'll win. Because he'd be _lying_ , and he can't do that to his heart.

Hope is a cruel fickle mistress. Not to put trust in.

Minseok is drowning in guilt.  
  
Jongdae's eyes are soft. "Okay hyung, lets get some rest."  
  
Usually, when they sleep they stay on opposite sides of the bed. Neither of them are fans of cuddling- Dae gets too hot, Minseok prefers to curl up on himself - but tonight they fall asleep in one another's arms.

 

* * *

  
  
When Minseok opens his eyes he wishes in vain that he hadn't. He would've rather repeated his Games a hundred times than have this day come to light.  
  
Jongdae's side of the bed is empty.  
  
Minseok swallows around the lump in his throat and forces himself out into the dining area.

 

* * *

  
  
"- And make sure you stay away from the cornucopia," Minseok says, fixing Jongdae's shirtfront.  
  
It's a redundant gesture, any moment the stylist will get him changed into his Arena outfit. Minseok's hands are shaking. (If only the Capitol could see their Ice Prince now).  
  
"Take a moment to survey your surroundings. There's usually more than to it than meets the eye, and shelter is your number priority. Whatever the stylist dresses you in is an indication of what to expect."  
  
Jongdae captured Minseok's hand where it stutters against his cheek, holding it there under his own. "Hey, it'll be okay. I'll try my hardest to get back."  
  
"You'd better," Minseok huffs, gratitude seeping into his voice at the lightening of the mood.  
  
There's a knock at the door.  
  
Unbridled panic shoots through his stomach. "I love you," Minseok says in desperation.

"Love you too," Jongdae replies, with a hug that shakes from both sides. He cradles Minseok's face between his hands and kisses him once, quickly. "I'll meet you for dinner in about two weeks yeah?"

"As long as you don't leave early again," Minseok quips, eyed desperately working to memorise every inch of Jongdae's face.  
  
(Curly mouth, the endearingly crooked bottom tooth, his cheekbones. Eyes, straight eyebrows).  
  
Their foreheads press together gently.

There's another knock at the door.

Minseok closes his eyes.

 

* * *

  
  
Minseok chews at the skin of his thumbnail as he waits for the countdown.  
  
The year of his Games, his final battle was against a girl from 5 - far more intelligent than he, but physically weaker. She'd managed to evade him for near 24 hours, a game of cat and mouse, until a blizzard cornered them at the cornucopia. Minseok would always be somewhat thankful for the Gamemakers - without their interference, no doubt she eventually would've bested him. Hopefully, they too work in Jongdae's favour.  
  
50...49...48...  
  
Everyone goes silent as the screen comes to life.  
  
30...29...28...  
  
The Arena is white. The only break in the monotony is the sky above.  
  
20...19...18...  
  
A ten-metre clearing rings the cornucopia, on the fringe stand all 24 of the tributes. Four gaps in the wall appear behind them.  
  
10...9...8...  
  
Minseok's eyes find Jongdae. He's in all-white like the others, looking calmly around, flexing his fingers.  
  
3...2...1...  
  
The arena is a maze.

 

* * *

  
_  
_ Fear. Putrid fear twists up to his heart and _squeezes._ Bile coats the back of his mouth as all the tributes start running.  
  
One dead, two dead.  
  
A snapped neck. A slashed throat. An arrow in the chest.

 He loses sight of Jongdae. None of the three screens show him.  
  
Minseok holds his breath, clenches his teeth, dread stabbing into his stomach as the initial bloodbath ends.  
_  
Boom.  
  
Boom. Boom.  
  
Boom boom boom.  
  
Boom. Boom. Boom._

Minseok counts nine. Nine cannon shots. Nine cannon shots and Minseok _can't see Jongdae._

Finally one of the cameras pan to him. He's alive.

_Minseok remembers chasing Jongdae through the housing corridors of the Nut when he was nine. Remembers the incredulous looks of the elders before the scolding because Minseok had never done anything like this before. Remembers the feeling of freedom as they practically flew._

None of that excitement exists now watching Jongdae sprint from the hulking mass that is the tribute from the livestock district. Watching his tiny body weave through the maze empty-handed, away from the threat of a butcher's knife. Watching him trip and fall sprawling, scrambling backwards on hands and knees. Jongdae's face though is oddly calm.

Minseok squeezes his token so hard he feels skin break.  
  
But the death blow never comes.  
  
With a sickening crunch, the district 10 boy's head is separated from his neck. His body falls with an accompanying spray of red to rest at Jongdae's feet.  
  
"Took you long enough," Jongdae says somewhat shakily as Jessica offers him a hand up.  
  
Hugo, the boy from 1, swings his sword up onto his shoulders, a satisfied grin on his brick-like face. "Let's get moving."

 

* * *

  
  
When night in the Arena falls, the remaining Career pack - the girl from 1 and both from 4 are dead - set up for bed.

Jongdae volunteers to be on watch. The other two soon agree. Jongdae proved himself useful today - against Mutts that hid in mist and had red eyes and called you to death with their voice. Quick on his feet, Jongdae managed to get them past the beast with only one death, by shouting at the others to block their ears and hum.  
  
But Jongdae stares out into the distance with a heartbreaking expression. Seeing death and living it are two different things, and Jongdae had always been sensitive.

_"I wish we didn't have to kill people," Jongdae says, flinching as they watch a boy from 11 get bludgeoned to death._

_"Jongdae," Minseok hisses, glancing around to make sure no one had heard._

The pain behind Jongdae's eyes is real. _  
  
_

* * *

_  
  
_ Two days pass. Jongdae is still alive but breaks two fingers before Hugo can kill the other tribute, earns a cut along his shoulder whilst escaping a Mutt, and sprains his ankle and receives multiple shallow stinging cuts in an hour that killed both Jessica and another tribute when a section of the maze collapsed.  
  
Every one of the injuries Minseok feels as his own.

 

* * *

  
  
Minseok remembers the moment he won his Games, how he tipped his head black and _breathed_. The sheer relief of no longer having to constantly watch his back. (They replay that image to this day; of him standing barefoot in the snow - they could save his toes but not his soul - black hair messed and nose pink, with the beginnings of a smile on his face).  
  
He feels now the same way he did then; coldly satisfied when another tribute is picked off. After all, Jongdae is one step closer to winning.

 

* * *

  
  
When it gets down to the final nine, Minseok breathes easier. _Just_.

They've taken to calling Jongdae The Sun Prince.

 

* * *

  
  
The ninth day breaks on a lightning storm.  
  
The spear that goes through Jongdae's back pierces Minseok's heart too.  
  
_(Later, he'll manage to find it in himself to be grateful Jongdae's death wasn't drawn out. Barely).  
  
_ Cried echo around the cowering room - Jongdae was a Capitol favourite.  
  
Minseok feels several sets of eyes on him when Jongdae falls - the whole room - but his face remains as is; left hand steepled along his jaw, leg crossed over the other where he watches the screen. Impassive. Impersonal. The Ice Prince.  
  
When the screen changes and the Capitol patrons all move on to their next favourites, Minseok turns to Taeyeon and quietly excuses himself.  
  
Minseok makes it through three corridors before he vomits all over the floor. He shudders, trembles and wipes at his mouth, eyes staring listlessly at the wall. The one person he truly cared for is dead. Forgotten already in the long lines of children whose souls the Capitol has destroyed with no mercy. The Losers.  
  
Jongdae is dead.  
  
For a moment the rage overwhelms the grief, and Minseok tears back and punches the wall so hard it cracks.  
  
Jongdae is _gone_.

 

* * *

  
  
Minseok had never wanted to see Jongdae in a Peacekeeper uniform.  
  
He supposed in one twisted one, his wish did come true.

 

* * *

  
  
Later, when Jongdae's body is retrieved, and Minseok is allowed to see it, all he will remember is the choked sound of him dying, and how different it was from his usually dulcet tones.  
  
They'd cleaned up the blood that trickled from his mouth. All Minseok can remember was how bright it was. Holly-red. Bright red that bubbled from his mouth and dripped down his shirt.  
  
All Jongdae became was red.

 

* * *

  
  
When they force Minseok from his house for the fourth anniversary of his Victory tour, he goes.  
  
Let's them dress him up and parade him around, no longer rebelling in the little ways he had - by letting the disgust show on his face rather than hide it, or only speaking in clipped sentences. Speaks robotically from his cue cards, eyes glassing over the crowd. _A pause in his notes there._ Meant for Minseok to smile out to the crowd. He doesn't. He will not give them that satisfaction. _(No one will ever have the pleasure of ever seeing Minseok smile again).  
_  
Minseok doesn't care anymore. Let them kill him. It's not like he's got anything left to live for anyway.  
  
When Minseok reaches the last lines he almost stutters because they're _vile_. Minseok had never wanted the President more dead than he does in that instant.

But numb, he presses on - Minseok hasn't cared about anything since that cannon went off.  
  
"May the odds be ever in your favour."

 

 


End file.
